by Faye Adams
Cass took this opportunity to leave her table. She'd seen the stranger start her way, and she didn't want any trouble today. Especially not in town. Leaving two dollars on the table, she slipped quickly down the hallway that led to a back way out of the hotel, grateful she'd chosen a table close enough to it to allow her escape.
Brett cursed under his breath as he saw Cassidy leave the restaurant via a hallway at the back of the room. "I'm not going to be staying," he answered Rosie, and walked past her to follow Cassidy.
"Suit yourself," said Rosie, tossing the menu back on the counter, she turned to another waitress and grimaced. "As if it wasn't bad enough having Cassidy Wayne in here, now we get strangers that just come in to look around and leave."
Cass breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the hotel door behind her. She'd made her getaway and didn't have to confront the stranger. All she had to do now was get back to the sheriff's office, where she'd left her horse. She admonished herself for not bringing the animal to the hotel in case she needed to leave quickly, and promised herself she wouldn't let her guard down even that much again.
Walking the length of the alley toward the street, she wondered what the stranger had wanted. Just trouble? She remembered the way his eyes had traveled over her features. She remembered the hard appearance of his body as he stood so still, examining her with his gaze. Her pulse beat rapidly at the memory, and she felt a strange heat growing deep within her. She wondered briefly what it would feel like to run her fingers through the dark curls at the back of his neck, then shook herself mentally. She had never let herself get sidetracked by her lust for a man in her life. She wouldn't now.
Brett was angry. He'd discovered that the hallway Cassidy had taken didn't simply lead straight to a back door. It led first to a side door that opened onto a closed courtyard, then turned and ended abruptly, flanked by three doors that all looked exactly the same. He'd found out the hard way, by startling guests, that two of the doors opened into hotel rooms. He finally found the door that led outside, but by then Cassidy was nowhere in sight. Heading quickly toward the street, he was relieved to see her walking determinedly in the direction of the sheriff's office.
Cass was still thinking about the stranger when she heard someone call her name from across the street. When she looked up, she saw another man walking toward her. Behind him was tethered the palomino she'd seen outside the Best Bet Saloon. "What can I do for you?" she asked in a monotone.
"You Cassidy Wayne?" the man asked.
Cass instantly sized up the man before her. Gun tied low. Hands nervous at his sides. Eyes blinking quickly. Her heart seemed to stop beating as a calm carne over her. "I know Cassidy. I'll be happy to give her a message for you," she said.
The man blinked several times in rapid succession. "The bartender said you were Cassidy Wayne. Are you or aren't you?" he demanded.
Cass stepped forward to face him squarely. "That depends."
"On what?" he asked impatiently.
“The reason you're looking for her." Cass side-stepped slowly, moving so the sun was no longer in her eyes.
"I heard she's fast. I want to see how fast," the man answered snidely, sure of his superior speed.
"She's not so fast," Cass offered. She'd been challenged before and had been able to talk her way out of having to kill. She hoped she could do the same now.
"You know that for sure? Or are you just trying to keep from gettin' killed, Miss Wayne?" the man asked, grinning now.
Cass stopped moving. "I never said who I was," she told him.
"Didn't have to. You're Cassidy Wayne, all right. I heard about those twin Colts," he said, glancing quickly at her guns.
“So?"
"So I want to see if you're as fast as I heard."
"Pick a target," she offered, her voice quiet.
The man took a step toward her, his eyes narrowed. "You makin' fun of me?" he asked.
"No. There's just no reason for us to shoot at each other. I can show you how fast I am without killing you," she explained, staring hard into his eyes.
The gunman blinked again. "You're pretty damned sure of yourself for a woman," he said rudely.
"I'm very sure of myself. I've found that guns don't care who holds them and bullets kill just the same no matter, who pulls the trigger. So let me ask you a question," she said softly.
The man nodded slightly.
"Do you really want to die today?"
"Why, you…”
"No need to lose your temper, mister. Just answer my question. The sun is shining in a blue sky and there's a cool breeze blowing in from the range. Do you want to die on such a nice day?"
"You bitch," the gunman hissed. His left eye began to twitch as he blinked. Spreading his stance slightly, he poised his hand over his gun.
Cass sighed inwardly. "I'm serious, mister, I'm not trying to be funny. I'm faster than you are, I guarantee it, and you're going to die if your gun clears leather. Do you want to die today?
The man clenched his jaw as she spoke. He stood stone still except for his incessant blinking. He was going to draw.
Time stopped, and Cass waited. But only for a second. She saw the jerk of his shoulder muscles and pulled her guns with lightning speed, sending bullets to explode in his chest before he even got his weapon completely out of the holster. She watched as he fell to the dirt, a look of surprise on his face.
"Jesus Christ!" cursed Brett from a short distance away. He'd never seen anyone so fast in his life. He wasn't even sure he could beat her himself. And he couldn't believe it had happened while he watched. Running the last few steps to reach Cassidy, he grabbed her by the shoulder and jerked her to face him.
Cass felt the strong hand take hold of her, and she was ready to fire again as she was spun around. Only her quick reflexes kept her from shooting the stranger. Instead, she found herself staring up into the hard gray eyes that seemed to pierce her to her soul.
"What the hell was this all about?" demanded Brett.
Cass didn't answer. She just looked up at the handsome face above her. Her heart had started beating again, and now raced wildly in her chest. It took her only seconds to realize he still held her shoulder in his firm grasp, his strong fingers biting into her flesh. Stepping back, she tried to jerk herself free of his grip. "It's none of your business," she informed him stiffly.
"Like hell it's not," warned Brett, holding tight to her shoulder. "You better give me an answer, fast."
Cass pinpointed the aim of her guns. "And you better let go of me," she threatened.
Brett glanced down at the guns almost touching his stomach. All she had to do was pull the triggers on the deadly weapons and his life would be over, but something in her eyes told him she wouldn't do it. "Miss Wayne, I'm a federal marshal, and unless you want to spend the rest of your life in prison, I suggest you drop those Colts." He looked hard into the blue of her eyes and kept his tight grip on her.
Cass blinked once. Federal marshal? Was he telling her the truth, or was he a friend of the dead man trying to get the better of her? "I don't think so. Not without proof," she challenged.
Brett kept his eyes level with hers. She wanted proof, eh? Reaching slowly inside his shirt beneath his vest, he pulled out a tarnished silver badge. Letting it lay in his palm so she could see it, he waited.
Cass lowered her eyes to inspect the badge. It could have been a fake or stolen, but her senses told her he was telling her the truth. Looking back up into his eyes, she kept the guns trained on his stomach. "What are you going to do with me, Marshal?" she asked quietly.
Brett felt his pulse take a small jump as her words brought some startling pictures to mind. His body instantly reminded him of some very interesting things he'd like to do to her. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm taking you to the jail for questioning," he told her, his voice stern. "Now bury those guns."
Cass slowly lowered the Colts. A group of people had started to gather, and murmured gasps traveled through the crowd as they in
spected, with relish, the wound her two bullets had made over the gunman's heart. She glanced at the body of the dead man, then back to the marshal.
Brett saw the crowd gathering just as Cass had, and he didn't like the expressions on some of the faces. "You people go on about your business," he said loudly to the group.
Nobody moved.
Releasing his hold on Cass's shoulder now that she had lowered her guns to a relaxed angle, he took a step toward the crowd. "I said to disperse," he told them.
"And who are you to tell us what to do?" a belligerent voice demanded defiantly from the back of the crowd.
"Marshal Brett Ryder," he responded with authority. Pinning his badge to his vest, he took a step toward the crowd. "One of you go get the undertaker. The rest of you go on about your business."
"You're a marshal? Where's Sheriff Jackson?" asked a tall heavyset man as he disengaged himself from the group.
Brett raised a brow slightly in Cass's direction.
"Jaybird Johnson," she whispered crossly. She had her own bone to pick with this man. She knew he had to be the bartender who'd identified her to the gunman.
Brett noticed Cassidy's hostility and felt an inward tension as he stepped between her and the man. "Mr. Johnson, Sheriff Jackson had business out of town this morning. He'll be back in a couple of hours. Until he gets back, I'm the law. And I want this crowd to disperse before it gets out of hand. You seem to be one of the community leaders,” he heard Cassidy snort behind him, "so I wonder if you could assist me in getting folks to go on home."
Jaybird didn't like anyone telling him what to do, even under the guise of a compliment, but this marshal didn't know him, so maybe, just maybe, he'd let it slide this once. He looked past the lawman to where Cass stood just behind him. "What about her? She just murdered a man in the street. You gonna do something about it?" he demanded.
Cass threw down the gauntlet. "It wasn't murder, Jaybird. You know that better than anyone else."
"How would I know? You gunned him down, didn't you? I was in the bar when it happened," answered Jaybird, his voice full of the animosity he felt toward Cass.
"You're the one who told him who I was. You're the one who sent him out here knowing full well what he had in mind. And don't think I don't know you were hoping I'd be the one bleeding all over the street now."
Jaybird took a step closer.
Brett held up his hand. "That's enough," he ordered. Looking directly at Jaybird, he asked, "Do you know who he was?" indicating the dead man.
Jaybird smiled then. A smug, evil smile. "Yeah, I know who he was." He looked at Cass and his smile widened. "You just killed Bobby Fleet's kid brother," he announced with relish.
Brett's eyes flashed to the dead man. "Henry Fleet?" he said amazed.
Cass narrowed her eyes at the news. She felt the weight of what Jaybird had just said, but she refused to let him see he'd affected her.
"You gonna run?" Jaybird taunted.
"Shut up," ordered Brett.
"Hey.." said Jaybird angrily.
"I said shut up," repeated Brett, walking toward him.
Jaybird looked at the black scowl on the marshal's face and backed up a step. "What the ..." He stopped when the man passed him and paused to look at the body of Henry Fleet.
Brett had a hard time believing this was one of the Fleet brothers. They were reputed to be among the fastest guns in the West, and Cassidy had beaten him with seconds to spare. Stooping down, he picked up the dead man's gun. His scowl deepened when he saw, carved into the handle, the trademark initials and notches showing the number of men he'd killed. Looking up sideways at Cassidy, he suddenly wondered if she, too, had notches on her guns.
Cass looked into the marshal's eyes and knew what he was thinking. She was as nonplussed that she'd guessed his thoughts as she was at what he was wondering. Her heart skipped several beats, and the blood raced through her veins at an alarming rate. Opening her hands slightly, and turning her palms upward, she showed him the unmarked handles of her twin Colts.
Surprise registered in Brett's gray eyes when Cass showed him her guns. He felt as though she'd been inside his head, had read his mind, and it bothered him somehow. But he couldn't deny the feeling of . . . what? Joy? No, that was too strong a word, but he was definitely relieved to see that she hadn't marked her kills on the weapons.
"What are you going to do about this, Marshal?" Jaybird demanded belligerently, hoping the hushed crowd would rally around him. "Cassidy just murdered this man."
Brett stood up and faced the burly bartender. "I'll see to it she receives the reward," he answered smartly.
"'What?" fussed Jaybird.
"I'm sure there's a reward for this man, dead or alive. I'm going to see to it that Cassidy receives it. Unless you think you should get part of it for setting him up?" he challenged.
“I never . .. You're crazy," Jaybird argued.
Cass couldn't believe she'd heard right. A reward? She didn't want any reward for killing a man. Maybe Jaybird was right. Maybe the marshal was crazy. Watching his back, she wondered about him. What was he doing here in Twisted Creek? Why had he followed her out of the restaurant?
Brett turned away from Jaybird's flushed countenance. "Would one of you people go get the undertaker, please?" he asked.
"I’ll do it," offered the town barber, Bill Conroy.
"Thanks," said Brett as the man left, heading toward the funeral parlor. He then eyed Jaybird once again. "Was Fleet alone?" he asked.
"Yeah," Jaybird answered gruffly.
"Are you sure?" He was worried that Henry's brother, Bobby, might have been traveling with him, or was somewhere in the area.
"Of course I'm sure," groused Jaybird.
"Good," said Brett. He scanned the crowd of people staring at the body or watching the scene between Jaybird and himself. "You all go on home or back to your businesses now," he told them.
Cass saw that a few people started leaving right away, with most meandering off a few seconds later. Jaybird stood his ground until he saw there was no longer an audience to watch his bluster. Then he too started back toward the Best Bet Saloon, but not before throwing the marshal a few very challenging looks. Cass let out her breath slowly. "What now?" she asked as the marshal turned toward her.
"Now we go to the sheriff's office so I can ask you a few questions," he explained.
"About this?" she gestured toward the body.
Brett glanced over his shoulder, then back at her. "No."
Cass's eyes narrowed. "About what, then?"
"I'll get to it in the jail. Why don't you holster those?" Brett looked down at the guns she still held.
Cass shrugged and slipped the Colts into their resting places. “Whatever you say, Marshal," she agreed.
Brett's nerves jumped at her words, and he frowned at the way his body had begun reacting to innocent statements she made. Swallowing, he gestured toward the jail and let her lead the way to the small building. As she walked in front of him, he couldn't keep his eyes from inspecting the sweet curve of her bottom.
Minutes later Cass sat in front of the sheriff’s desk as she had earlier that morning. Only this time it wasn't the familiar, older face of the sheriff she watched. It was the handsome face of the marshal that held her attention as he searched through wanted posters he'd found in a drawer. “I don't want the reward," she stated firmly.
Brett looked up at her briefly. She'd already told him this once, but he kept on looking.
"I mean it, Marshal. I don't want a reward for taking a man's life," she insisted.
Brett dropped the stack of posters on the desk. “Then why did you kill four men before today?" he asked. He knew what the sheriff had told him. He wanted her answer.
Cass felt the cold hand of hate close over her heart as she remembered the murders as if they'd happened yesterday. "I had my reasons," she said through clenched teeth.
"I want to know what those reasons were."
Cass met his gra
y eyes with the cool blue of her own. "Did the sheriff tell you?" she asked.
“Yes.”
"Then why…,"
"I want to hear it from you." His voice was a deceptive monotone.
As calmly as though she felt nothing, Cass spoke. "The men I killed murdered my family."
The calmness in her voice sent a chill through his heart. Brett knew that emotion, had seen it in others, had felt it himself. "Revenge," he said quietly, his eyes taking on a faraway glaze.
Cass didn't answer. Something in his voice touched her oddly. He knew. He knew what she was feeling as though he'd crawled inside her.
"And you're not through yet," Brett continued.
Cass shrugged slightly.
"Can't you let it go?" He had no way of knowing he'd chosen exactly the wrong words to use. Not until he saw the clenching of her jaw and the tightening of her fists did he realize his mistake.
"I think I'll be going now, Marshal," Cass said coldly, standing abruptly.
"Not yet, Cassidy."
Cass ignored his request. Intent on leaving, she started toward the door.
Brett rose and quickly stepped around the desk. "Cassidy, wait," he ordered, reaching out to grab her arm.
Cass felt the strength of his fingers as he grabbed her. Sparks of awareness jolted up her arm. Trying to pull away, she met his gaze. "I told you once today to let me go. I'm telling you again."
Brett didn't lessen the tension of his grasp. "You're not leaving yet."
"Like hell I’m not. You've got no reason to keep me here."
“Once more her words set off his body's alarms. "I've got reason,'' he growled, not explaining his double meaning.
Cass needed to get away from this man. She jerked hard on her arm, but felt him counter her movement by pulling her toward him, throwing her off-balance. The anger in her eyes turned to shock as she found herself leaning flush against his strong, muscular body.
Brett's heart exploded in his chest as Cass fell against him. All his nerves jumped to life, and his manhood pulsed with a need so great he was nearly dizzy with it. Locking her gaze with his, he saw the startled passion that blazed to life in the blue depths. Hesitating only a second, he lowered his head and claimed her lips in a devouring kiss, branding her with the fire that flashed between them.
